


Echoes of My Past: From the Perspective of Magnus Bane

by hangrybluewhale



Series: Echoes of My Past [1]
Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangrybluewhale/pseuds/hangrybluewhale
Summary: Magnus watches over his adopted warlock son, as navy blue as the ocean upon which he'd once sailed with Ragnor Fell on his various adventures.





	1. Chapter 1

He looks at Isabelle. Bold, fierce Isabelle, with her electrum whip like lightning, bright and devastating in this dead world of Edom. He looks at Isabelle, and thinks of her brother, of brash, brilliant Anna Lightwood, who’d lived a century ago. 

But then he looks at Alec, into those  _ blue  _ eyes, and a faint voice in his mind still whispers  _ Herondale. Will Herondale.  _

 

_ No. Not Will. Not a Herondale.  _

 

_ Alexander Lightwood  _ holds onto him, resolute even in this Hell. 

  
And Magnus, weary as he is, decides that burning up from a fever in Edom might not be the worst way to die, if it means he can look at Alec — Alec who might have been his, in a better world —  a legacy of Nephilim, heavenly fire even in this world where angels were dead. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus watches over his adopted warlock son, as navy blue as the ocean upon which he'd once sailed with Ragnor Fell on his various adventures.

Max was two years old now. Magnus, having never had children of his own, always felt that humans were exaggerating when they complained of the “Terrible Twos”.

 

Surely the worst was over, Magnus thought. He still remembered the sleepless days and nights at the Shadowhunter Academy  when he and Alec first took in Max. Max had been an adorable, navy blue bundle of joy, but no one could deny the child had a set of lungs. There had been several occasions Max had woken up and started crying for hours on end, and nothing, not a milk bottle, or any of the toys strewn around the floor, could calm him down. He and Alec would take turns picking Max up and walking around their apartment, gently rocking Max in an attempt to soothe him to sleep. 

Even Alec had been exhausted, despite endless cups of coffee and stamina runes. 

But now that Max was two years old, he was at least able to form simple sentences, or point at objects. Magnus thought that communicating with his son would be somewhat easier than when all Max could do was cry and they’d had to figure out why the baby was crying.

 

He was very wrong. 

 

“Want cookie!” Max pouted, crossing his arms and fixing Magnus with a glare of such intensity that Magnus would have been impressed, under different circumstances. 

Said cookie was currently secure in a jar full of other confectionery, on a shelf out of Max’s reach. 

“No Max, you’ve already had a cookie just now, after dinner. If you eat another cookie now before bed, you might make yourself sick.” 

His attempts to teach his child logical reasoning was rather unsuccessful. 

“Cookie. Now!” Max sat himself down on the floor, picked up a building block that had been lying around, and began banging it on the floor as hard as he could. 

Magnus was alarmed. He snapped his fingers, and the building blocks scattered on the floor disappeared into their box. The one Max was holding was still in his hands — Magnus didn’t want his son to be startled by the block vanishing, or for one of his hands to accidentally smack the floor and hurt himself. 

Strange, how even that one minor spell made him feel so weary. He’d been feeling drained recently.  

He knelt down, so he could speak to his son while looking him in the eye. “Max, put that block away,” he said, pitching his tone firm. Max ignored him. 

“Max,” Magnus said, as he reached for the block before Max could accidentally hit himself with it, receiving a whack on his arm in turn. 

 

The block was made of solid, brightly painted wood; the blow stung. 

 

Max dropped the block and began to cry. Magnus ignored the pain in his arm , scooping his son up into his arms. They sat on the floor like that for a while, Magnus holding his son and patting him on the back, murmuring “It’s alright, Max. Don’t cry. It’s alright.”

After what felt like a few centuries, Max sniffled. “Hurt Papa.” 

“I’ll be better soon, Max,” Magnus said gently. Max wiped his sticky face against Magnus’ shirt. Well, at least it was one of Alec’s old, worn sweaters. He’d have to remember to give it a thorough wash later. 

“Come along then, let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.” 

Max nodded. Magnus stood up, then lifted Max up and carried him to the bathroom, where he helped Max wash his face and brush his teeth. When that was done, Max climbed down from the stool, toddling in the direction of his bedroom, where Magnus and Alec had switched him to a toddler bed a few weeks ago. The headboard was set in the shape of a rocket, but Magnus would sometimes change the shape of the bed to go along with whatever story he was telling Max before he went to sleep. 

 

“Do you want me to tell you a story before lights out?” 

Max nodded, though he seemed less excited than usual. He probably was still upset about the block.  

Magnus thought about a day in Peru, landing in a cargo full of  _ guano  _ with Ragnor Fell. Despite everything that had happened earlier, Magnus found himself smiling at the memory. 

 

“Once upon a time,” he began, because mundanes’ fairy tales all had that beginning, and Max insisted that Magnus always start his own stories with that phrase, “there was a green fellow on a pirate ship.” 

Max perked up. He’d recently moved into a pirate phase. Maybe one day Magnus would tell him about his escapades as a pirate, but for now he continued with this story. Some of the adventures he’d embarked upon as a pirate might not have been appropriate bedtime stories for a two year old child. 

“G-een?” Max sounded doubtful. 

“As green as springtime,” Magnus said, laughing, even though some of that laughter was mingled with sadness.  _ Oh Ragnor, if only you could see this now.  _ But Ragnor would never meet Max. 

 

“Pi-rat not g-reen,” Max insisted. In all the cartoons Max watched, the pirates all wore black eye-patches and sported black, unruly beards, and growled “arrr” a lot. Jace and Clary had once dropped by their house to visit, only to be greeted by a happy Max, who jumped out at them with an “arrrrrr” in the most menacing tone he could muster, wearing a pirate hat he’d found somewhere. Clary had gone along with the game, pretending to be shocked by the sudden appearance of the “pirate”, but Jace had doubled over with laughter. 

 

“Well,” Magnus said, coming back to the present, “this pirate was very special. He wasn’t just green; he had white hair and horns like a ram.” 

“Ram?” Max had never heard of a ram before. 

“It’s a male sheep.” Though he was tired, Magnus snapped his fingers, blue sparks flying. The bed was soon transformed into a small pirate ship, to Max’s delight, and a faintly glowing hologram of a ram appeared above his palm. “That’s what it looks like.” 

 

Max was studying the hologram intently. 

“Like me!” He declared, tugging at the black horns on his head. 

“I suppose so, my little blueberry,” Magnus said, ruffling Max’s hair. 

Max beamed, then yawned widely, blinking.  Magnus saw that he was tired. “Time to go to bed, then. We’ll continue the story tomorrow.” 

Max nodded sleepily, curling up under his blankets. A few heartbeats later, he was asleep.

- 

Magnus sat at his bedside, watching over one of the people he loved best in the world, while thinking about another warlock he’d cared about who’d been gone too soon from this world. 

  
  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you felt sad when reading this, read Queen of Air and Darkness. It might make you feel better.


End file.
